


domeric/sansa tumblr ficlets

by losgar (ladyoflosgar)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Domeric Bolton Lives, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflosgar/pseuds/losgar
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Varying ratings/AUs but all my one true pairing, pretty short, and accompanied by some pretty pictures.
Relationships: Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	1. bolton bride (united north)

A raven came from the Greatjon at the Crag.

“What happened?”

“The Spicer woman. The late Gawen Westerling’s wife. She had her daughter seduce your brother and smother him in his bed. On Lord Tywin’s orders, no doubt.” 

_Robb killed her husband and her sons. Who am I to say I would not do the same?_

She closed her eyes. “Your men. Damon and Dick and Skinner. There has been no word? They have not found my brothers?”

“No, your grace.” He kept on calling her that. _Your grace._ It sounded wrong on his tongue. _He is my lord husband, not my subject. Bran and Rickon are still alive. Lady can feel them. Their wolves. I know it in my heart._

 _“_ The Greatjon wants to know. What say you of the Spicer woman and her whelps?”

She ran her hand through Lady’s fur. So soft, so soothing. 

“Send them here. We hold the Western coast from Bear Island to Crakehall. The winds are fair. They’ll hardly sink.” 

“And then?”

“We’ll do to them what we did to your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domeric didn't do anything shady to Bran or Rickon. They just got past the wall. Sansa is dark!Sansa, and it's a Westeros revenge pie party. I think Arya probably got betrothed to Tommen or something here. Maybe Robert Arryn IDK. Let's say Joffrey was betrothed to Desmera Redwyne from the outset because Bobby B wanted a cheap booze deal, and there was a Tyrell-Redwyne-Hightower schism which weakened the Reach-Crown coalition at the end of Clash/beginning of Storm.


	2. queen of love and beauty (a lady and her knight)

“Seven Hells, Ned, it’s _her. Her_. Lyanna come again,” said King Robert, in the Winterfell courtyard. “I have a son. You have a daughter. We’ll join our houses.”

And just like that, Arya was betrothed to the crown prince, the only one of his siblings to share his father’s dark hair. 

“Mother, you said _I_ was to be queen,” Sansa said, after the feast that night. “Not Arya.”

“We are but playthings of the gods in heaven, my sweet one,” Mother said. “And of kings on their thrones.”

King Robert insisted on holding a tourney at Harrenhal, to celebrate the betrothal. “We’ll do everything right this time. Gendry will win, he’ll crown his betrothed. Everything will be the same. Except for what went wrong.”

Everything _was_ the same, down to the singer on the first night. He came down the High Road from the Vale with Aunt Lysa’s men. Down the high table, King Robert seethed, but when Ser Domeric Bolton sang _Florian and Jonquil_ so sweetly and looked straight at her, Sansa could not help but weep. _He’s singing for me_ , she told herself. But then it could just be hope. Just like before. _We are but playthings of the gods in heaven._

She was wrong.

“My lady, I beg your favor.” He came to the dais and sought her out. His teeth gleamed bright, but his pale eyes gleamed brighter. “I would ride for you and I would win.” 

King Robert glowered, but Sansa glowed. “Of course, ser,” she said. 

She tied it around his arm the next morning. He wore it all three days. In his night-dark armor with its red-plumed helm, he could have been a Targaryen prince. If you squinted. Every time another knight fell before his lance, King Robert fell deeper into his cups. Prince Joffrey and Prince Gendry. Lord Royce and Lord Redfort and their sons. Ser Loras and Ser Garlan. Ser Jaime and the Hound. 

“We have a champion!” King Robert called. His heart was not in it.

Her knight placed the crown of roses pink and red atop her head with gentle hands. “My queen,” he said, quiet and tender. Then he pulled her down for a kiss.

She smiled into his mouth. _Mother said I was to be queen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an AU where everyone is happy. Tooth rotting fluff. Background Arya x pseudoGendry. Cersei and Jaime are karma houdinis because that unnamed baby Cersei had in the show, aka pseudoGendry, lived.


	3. vampires vs werewolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been expanded from what's on tumblr.

Father called him back to the Dreadfort, and he flew on bat's wings at the speed of sound.

"You must take a bride, my son. We need to prepare. The war against the Wolves of Winterfell. We are finally here. On the edge of conquering the Sunset lands, this wide Westeros, where monsters walk. The war with the Whents left us depleted. Ramsay has already replenished our numbers. You have not. Why?"

_Because Ramsay bites anything that moves. Because he is not picky. He does not choose. He rides around in his truck and turns any woman unfortunate enough to step inside into one of us._

"I could not say, Father."

"It has been so long since you have taken a bride, my son. Perhaps you have forgotten how."

"I have not forgotten," he said. He knew how the act was done. It was just like eating. But you had to control yourself. And that wasn’t it either. _I want to fall in love again._

His last bride he’d met in a castle by the sea, a long time ago. There was a tournament, like there used to be tournaments. He liked tournaments. There weren’t tournaments anymore. He’d been playing his harp underneath the crescent moon when he saw her. _My lady love,_ he’d known. _That’s her._ He’d had a suit of armor with no chinks. Dark inside and out, so the sun couldn’t touch his skin. _My mystery knight,_ she’d called him. _Would you ride for me tomorrow? I would watch you win._

There wasn’t a _tomorrow_ for his lady love. There was only vast eternity, and the long night’s music. He never knew her name. He just called her _my lady love._ She didn’t remember her name. She slowly forgot all time before he made her, just like he’d forgotten all time before him. Father.

They were supposed to be forever. She perished in the war with Clan Towers. Their eternity was gone.

It had been a long time. Still he could not forget her. Hair red as blood. Skin white as the moon. Cheekbones as sharp as a vampire’s fang. Plump lips for kissing and a form ripe enough to hold every night for a thousand years without growing tired of her. She was perfect. He made her and they did everything together. Hunted. Fought.

 _I can’t take another one_ , he’d told Father. _I won’t._

_You will._

Father made him. Father’s will would win. Father's will always won.

He didn’t take another bride but he _made friends._ _Sons,_ Father called them. But he never did that. Bent their minds. Called them. It was never like that, when they were alive. _We were friends before,_ he said. _Now we’ll be friends forever._ There were four of them. He knew all of their names. _Mychel, Creighton, Jasper, Jon._ His friends.

Friends were supposed to be forever too. But friends could perish too, in time. Jasper and Jon fell in the war with Clan Strong. Creighton was killed by a Lothson. Mychel, by a Whent.

_You are lonely, my son._

_Yes, Father. I am. You’re right._

_Go, my son._

_Yes, Father._

***

He traveled somewhere else. Far away from the old hunting ground. From memories of his lady love. And of his friends.

He met her at the club. It had been a theatre once, and an opera house before that. It had been there forever. And it always had good music. 

He’d been playing there for years. After his set the bartender sent him his usual drink and he sat down in his usual seat.

She was new. She was next. Her singing was so beautiful. _Florian and Jonquil._ It was an old song. _Her,_ he thought. _Her._ His next bride. _Father, I found her._ Her hair was red, and her cheeks were red, and her lips were red. She was red and beautiful and red.

_I want to live with her forever._

***

"What's your name, beautiful?" he asked when she was done. "I've decided to marry you. I should know your name." 

She laughed at that, and it was sweeter than her singing. "If you say so," she said. "My name's Alayne." 

"Alayne," he said. "That's a pretty name."

Her name was Alayne, but he called her _my lady love._

***

 _“_ I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow isn’t good. The day after works fine, though.”

“Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

She shut her apartment door. Out on the street, he sat in the Mustang and watched her window. _I want to see you every day._ He loosened his grip on the steering wheel. _Easy. You’ll have all the time in the world._ He started the car and drove into the nearly full moon.

***

“Go steady with you?” she asked. “That’s an old fashioned thing to say.”

“I’m an old fashioned kind of guy.”

“You’re a silly kind of guy,” she said. She nuzzled her nose into the hollow of his neck and sniffed him like a dog would. Beneath her skin her blood sang to him, all warmth and thundering beats like a bass drum struck too fast. _Alive_. That’s what she was. Alive. _And her eyes are blue. “_ Yes _,”_ she said.

_When forever comes, I’ll miss your blue eyes._

_***_

She was all nervous energy as they drove out to the scenic overlook. _Makeout point? You really are old fashioned._ Her fingers tapped his thigh with all the speed of a pianist trilling the keys.

“It’s a shame it’s so cloudy,” he said, as he unpacked her dinner. “We’ll miss the sunset. And they said the moon would be full - ” 

_“_ It’ll come out.” Not a pianist trilling the keys, a nervous dog, pawing at what it could. “I have something to tell you,” she said.

But her voice sounded far away, and Father’s call seized whatever it was that had once been his soul, and his awareness was filled with the screeches of bats in flight. _Domeric. The werewolves are near. My son, you must leave. Now! Leave!_

It was dark now, but cloudy still. He looked around and saw many canine eyes, many long fangs, reflecting the light of the distant stars. Growls. Growls and snarls.

_Domeric, get out! Ramsay is flying to you. Ramsay and his brides. My son –_

“I said, I’m a –”

But the moon came out, and her face shifted. _No, she can’t –_

The wolves, they _lunged,_ and Ramsay and his brides descended.

He shifted too, and the air was filled with dark screams.

It was not clear who was bitten first.


	4. The Reds and the Whites (prologue)

The seeds of the Northern civil war were sown after the dissolution of the Seven Kingdoms and the exile of the Targaryen monarchy.

The rebel cause flamed out in rage after Robert Baratheon heard that Lyanna Stark had willingly absconded with Rhaegar Targaryen and bore him a child of love. The Stark-Baratheon alliance was broken, and with it, Robert’s pretense to the Iron Throne. After the Great Council of 283 AC, Lord Eddard Stark became the King in the North and rode back to Winterfell with his shame-faced sister in tow.

And to strengthen his kingdom and heal ancient wounds forever, King Eddard did the unthinkable: he promised his first daughter to Roose Bolton’s heir before she was even born. 

The first skirmish began after Lady Lyanna oversaw the marriage of her bastard son Jon Snow to the Princess Arya. It had been a particularly unlucky year for House Stark, with King Eddard and King Robb both dying in the Wildling War, Prince Rickon breaking his neck falling from his horse, and Queen Alys’ pregnancy ending in stillbirth.

King Eddard and Queen Catelyn’s second son Brandon had been named the heir to the Trident after Ser Edmure Tully had caught a pox off a whore and died raving mad within the year. The boy took the name Brynden Tully and foreswore all rights to Winterfell, for himself and his line forever.

They called it _Dances With Wolves,_ or _The Reds and the Whites._

The Red faction was so named for the striking color of Sansa Stark’s hair. _Tully red_ , the Whites called it. _Lady Sansa is no Stark at all. Her cloak is Bolton pink and red._ The Whites would countenance no Queen in the North whose name was Bolton.

Behind Sansa Stark stood the Dreadfort, Barrowton, the Rills, the Flints of Flints’ Finger, and half the city of White Harbor, for it was said that the Red Queen, her Riverlander mother, and her Vale-raised husband all held dear _The Seven-Pointed Star._

Outside the North, the Reds enjoyed the staunch support of the boy King Robert of the Mountain and Vale, first cousin to both Stark sisters through his lady mother, Lysa Tully, and his principal bannermen, Lord Royce of Runestone and Lord Redfort of the Redfort. To the ire of many, King Hoster of the Trident elected to support his elder granddaughter over the younger, and he sent his rowers up the Fever River to capture Moat Cailin from the east.

The White faction was so named for the white Stark banners they marched behind, and for the White of Jon Snow’s direwolf. _The true blood of Winterfell,_ their supporters called them. _Queen Arya, Lord Protector Jon, and Lady Lyanna are Stark to the bone. True followers of the old gods._ But the Reds called them _Usurpers_ who spat on Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon’s memory, of the kingdom that King Eddard had built.

Behind Arya Stark stood Last Hearth, the Hornwood, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen’s Square, the mountain clans, the Flints of Widow’s Watch, the Neck, and half the city of White Harbor.

The Karhold and the family of Dowager Queen Alys’ birth remained neutral, their swords and spears a dear prize, while whispers of dragons reborn and the return of Queen Rhaella and her children blew in from the east...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heart says WRITE A LONGFIC but the brain says YOU DON'T HAVE TIME.


End file.
